


Local Cuisine

by Triss_Hawkeye



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Comfort, Flashback, Food, Friendship, Gen, Yuletide Treat, early in the Paris arc, spoilers up to ep36
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:53:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21853246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triss_Hawkeye/pseuds/Triss_Hawkeye
Summary: Hamid and Sasha hunt down some street food in Paris, and reminisce.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan & Sasha Racket
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Local Cuisine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fieldofyellowdandelions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fieldofyellowdandelions/gifts).



“Right!” said Hamid briskly. “We’ve got a few hours before our tour. How about lunch?”

“Jolly good. Back to the hotel then!” Bertie had almost launched into a stride, Brutor in tow, when Hamid cleared his throat.

“Um, well, I was actually thinking we might dine out? I know we don’t really have to what with the, er, hotel arrangements, but it might be nice to visit some of the local establishments while we’re here. For a bit of variety, you know? There’s a very nice place just around the corner that does the most wonderful steak—”

“Well, why don’t we take that a step further and have a walk around first?” Zolf interjected. “Don’t know about you, but I’m not so familiar with Paris and I’d like to get my bearings a bit more. Maybe we could find somewhere to eat while we go. Make an adventure of it, eh? Since, as you say, we’ve got the time.”

Hamid raised his eyebrows, a little taken aback but not unenthusiastic. “Oh! All right! Let’s do that, then. It’s not like Paris is short on restaurants!”

Sasha, who’d until that moment been looking around and not particularly paying attention, broke into a wide grin. “Wicked! Let’s go exploring! Hey Hamid, d’you think they have a London restaurant, but like in Paris? Like you’d have a French restaurant in London?”

Bertie sighed, outnumbered. “Come on, Brutor. Clearly with every luxury foodstuff imaginable not a minute’s walk away, our intrepid idiots would still rather traipse around Paris for an hour before sitting down in the nearest sub-par establishment available because they got themselves too hungry for sound culinary judgement.”

“Quit your grumbling, Bertie, come on!” Zolf called over his shoulder.

Paris was noisy and bustling in the middle of the day, with dense carriage traffic making its way through the streets and a clamour of busy people on either side. Zolf took the lead, and Bertie ended up sauntering beside him, carving a path through the crowds by sheer bulk. Still, it was only by her quick reflexes that Sasha managed to avoid colliding with other people, and occasionally Hamid, walking as she was with her neck craned upwards in slight awe of the fancy buildings that surrounded them. They were only just beginning to decrease in size and ostentatiousness when she froze, flinging an arm out to grab Hamid’s shoulder and only narrowly avoiding hitting him in the face.

He stopped as well, looking up at her in alarm. “What’s wrong, Sasha?”

“Hamid,” she said, voice low and urgent. “D’you smell that?”

Hamid sniffed the air. He could make out the expected smells of the city, of people and horses and the river, and something cooking nearby, something that, now he came to think of it, smelled awfully familiar. He turned to meet Sasha’s eyes and exclaimed at the same moment that she did, “Eels!”

“Can we go find the eel stand, _pleeeease_ Hamid?” Sasha begged him, a hand on each shoulder.

Hamid looked in the direction of Zolf and Bertie, uncertain, as they continued to move away, not having noticed the others had stopped. He glanced back at Sasha, who was looking down at him with eyes like saucers.

“I don’t know, maybe we should get the others first…”

Sasha scoffed. “Oh, come on. Zolf’s had eels all over the world, so he says. And you know Bertie wouldn’t give ‘em the appreciation they deserve, like.”

Hamid eyed them nervously as they drew further away, though no less visible due to the sheer scale of Bertie’s presence. “They’ll be all right by themselves, won’t they?” he said, to reassure himself as much as Sasha.

“‘Sfine. What could possibly happen to them in the middle of Paris?”

“Don’t jinx it Sasha!” Hamid scolded her, but with a slight smile that slowly became mischievous. “Come on then. Let’s find those eels.”

He grabbed Sasha’s hand, and the two of them scurried down a side street towards the river, weaving their way through the flow of pedestrians and following the smell of street food. Down by the water was a long, wide riverbank walk, lined with benches on the water side, and a lively market with dozens of stalls on the other. The air was loud with chatter and street musicians and the hiss of cooking food.

The distinct smell they’d noticed was emanating from the nearest stall to them. A far cry from the shabby practicality of Other London, this one had a pretty red and white striped canvas canopy and simple but charming draped cloth as decoration. The back half of the stall was taken up by one large griddle pan, tended to by a pair of cooks who looked like they had some orcish blood in them, where a whole row of eels strewn with garlic and capers were being grilled with the most delicious-sounding sizzle. Sasha’s eyes lit up.

“It’s proper fancy!” she exclaimed. “These must be, like, the fanciest eels _ever_.”

They approached the stall, where Hamid politely ordered two portions of grilled eel, which came served in chunks on skewers as long as Hamid’s arm. Sasha greeted the stall owners with something almost incomprehensible to him in her own peculiar gutter version of French. To his surprise, the cooks pointed at her in delight and chattered back at her in a babble that mostly went over his head but possibly involved fishing techniques, street sports, and dagger preferences. One of them handed the finished eel skewers to Sasha, throwing a third portion in with a wink.

She grinned, and said something back that was probably some equivalent of, “Awright, cheers mate!” 

Hamid paid them with a friendly smile, deciding not to embarrass himself by attempting to thank them in the same vernacular. They found a bench by the water and divided up their spoils.

“You sure you can manage a skewer and a half, Hamid?” Sasha asked. She took a bite of eel and her eyes practically rolled back into her head in bliss. 

“Please, it’s like you don’t even know me,” he retorted, and started on his own with gusto. 

He’d enjoyed the eel back in London more than he’d expected to, but this was something else—the skin was crispy, the flesh juicy, and the marinade tangy with the capers lending a pleasing kick to it. His eyes fluttered closed as he savoured the taste. Even so, he felt an unexpected pang at the sense memory, taking him back to the inn in Other London. 

The savoury taste of eel and salt had still been in his mouth as Gragg led them upstairs.

“Just a couple rooms left but it’ll be enough for you lot,” he rumbled. “You know the drill Sasha.” Sasha nodded and took the room keys. 

“What does he mean by that?” Zolf asked.

“Each room’s got a human-sized bed,” she explained, as Gragg trundled back downstairs, “but there’s also a pull-out underneath for kids or smaller folks if they want. Space-efficient, innit? Could probably curl up in one myself to be honest, but we might as well sort ourselves by height.”

Zolf shrugged. “Fine then. You and Bertie take a room each. And there probably should be one of us in each room a bit more familiar with this kind of place, eh?” he added, gesturing between himself and Sasha. “So I’ll bunk with Bertie and Hamid with you. That all right, Hamid?”

“Do I get a say in this?” Bertie griped.

“No.”

“That’s fine,” Hamid replied quietly. The events of the day had left him dazed and overwhelmed, and he felt a returning urge to cry, though he swallowed it down to help Sasha with pulling out the room’s second bed and unfolding the bedsheets over it. Sasha unselfconsciously stripped down to her shirtsleeves and drawers, sliding a dagger under her pillow and, after a moment’s thought, a second dagger beside it. She flopped onto the bed with a satisfied sigh and rolled herself up into her blankets.

“You all right?” she asked, and Hamid realised he’d just been standing by his bed, making no move to change or unpack. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

“Yes. I’ll go to bed soon. I just… need a moment. Do you mind if I open the window for a few minutes?”

“I don’t mind,” Sasha yawned, snuggling deeper into her blankets and rolling over to face the wall. “Night ‘amid.”

“Goodnight, Sasha.”

Hamid pushed up the window slightly, leaning his elbows on the windowsill and taking a deep breath of the cool underground air. It wasn’t exactly fresh, still damp and grotty even in this supposedly nicer part of town. Lamplight and the murmur of low conversation drifted up from the lower floor of the tavern, along with the lingering smell of cooked eel. He raised his hands and studied them in the low light, imagining scales and claws growing from them again. Now all that glistened there was that magic ring. He gave a small shudder, and felt impossibly out of his depth.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there at the window studying his hands, but eventually he heard the soft pad of feet beside him and jumped slightly—he hadn’t even heard Sasha get out of bed.

“You’re not asleep,” she noted. 

Hamid sighed. “No, I’m not.”

Sasha shuffled slightly beside him to look out the window too. There wasn’t much of a view, just the side of a neighbouring building.

“Are you… okay?” she asked haltingly. 

Hamid sighed again. “I’m just… the past day or so’s been… a lot to deal with. I’m new to this, and… I don’t think I’m coping very well with Other London, to be honest.”

“Yeah, makes sense. This place doesn’t suit you.”

“Oh, I’m not—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude about where you used to live,” he stammered, embarrassed.

“Nah, ‘sawright. I get it.” Sasha leaned against the edge of the window pane. “I mean, I get on fine down here, but I ain’t exactly fond of it either. Growin’ up poor’s pretty rubbish. Didn’t mind it at the time, but I’ve got _gold_ now. I can eat fancy. And buy daggers! And…” She looked down. “I can’t remember where I was going with that.”

“It’s okay.”

“Point is, you’re like, suited to everything going on in all the fancy places in the world, I bet. And I’m just suited to this little dark bit. But I got your back here. And you’ll have my back when I’m eating with the wrong… salad… spoon, or whatever, if we’re somewhere posh. Right?” She nudged his arm with her elbow.

“Of course I will, Sasha. Thank you.”

“Yeah. No worries.” She put out one arm in a sort of side hug made all the more unwieldy by the height difference, but Hamid managed to wrap his arms around her waist with a grateful squeeze.

“Really. I feel a lot better now. I’ll go to bed.”

His sleep was plagued by strange dreams, but restful all the same.

“Oi, Hamid. Did you swallow a bone or something?”

Hamid’s eyes opened again and he blinked a couple of times, back on the riverside. “No, no. It’s lovely. It just reminded me of something, is all.”

Sasha chewed happily. “Reminds me a bit of home. But in a nice way, like.” Hamid smiled up at her. She noticed, pausing mid-chew. “What?”

“Nothing. Just glad you’ve got my back, is all.”

She blinked down at him, nonplussed. “Oh. Awright then. Same here, I s’pose.”

“You know, you should teach me some of that ‘street French’, or whatever it is that you’re using.”

Sasha snorted and broke into a giggle, narrowly avoiding spraying eel everywhere. “Oh mate, can you imagine? You goin’ up to some posh restaurant bloke in your swanky suit and bein’ all, wotcha mate, got any grub?”

Hamid chuckled and returned to making his way along his skewer, when he felt a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach that almost threatened to tarnish his enjoyment of his food.

“Oh no. I just realised something.”

Sasha looked down at him in alarm. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I totally forgot. Neither Zolf nor Bertie speak French.”

“...Oh. _Merde_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've only recently gotten into RQG, so getting the chance to write a bit of it here is a delight. I love these characters so much. Happy Yuletide!


End file.
